Part 14 (2/2)
”My G.o.d, so many already?”
”We're here, aren't we?” replied Chuck. ”People are scared, want to know what's going on.”
With a few steps we jumped down the snow bank, crossed Eighth, and climbed the other side to join the teeming crowd. As we picked our way through, we heard murmurs of war and bombings from the huddled groups surrounding us. National Guardsmen were manning the entrances, trying to bring some order to the chaos. A line snaked up Eighth under the protection of some scaffolding and hastily erected plastic sheets to stop the wind. Gray blankets with Red Cross symbols on them were being handed out to people waiting.
Immediately around the entrance was an angry mob, some yelling and crying, all wanting to get in. The Guardsmen stood their ground and kept shaking their heads, pointing to the back of the line that was getting longer even as we stood and watched. Chuck stood for a few moments on the periphery and then waded in, dragging me along behind him.
”Sorry, sir, back of the line,” said a young Guardsman, holding up his hand to us and pointing toward Eighth.
”We don't want to go inside,” said Chuck loudly. ”Are we at war?”
”We are not at war, sir.”
”So we're not bombing anyone?”
”Not as far as I know, sir.”
”Would you tell me if we were?”
The Guardsman sighed and looked down the line of people.
”All I know is that help is coming soon, the power should be back on soon, and you need to get inside and stay warm and safe.” He looked into Chuck's eyes and added, ”Sir.”
Chuck moved to get closer, and the Guardsman stiffened up, clutching his M16.
”Mask, sir,” he said, nodding up toward a sign warning of bird flu.
”Sorry,” mumbled Chuck, pulling out some masks he'd brought from his stash.
He gave me one, and I put it on.
”So is this bird flu thing real?”
”Yes, sir.”
”But you don't know much more than me, do you?”
The Guardsman's shoulders sagged. ”Stay warm and safe, sir, and please back away.”
”There's n.o.body I could speak to inside that knows anything more?”
He shook his head, and his expression softened. ”You could wait in line, but it's a mess in there.”
This kid looked like he'd had enough already.
”Thanks,” said Chuck sympathetically. ”I bet you wish you were with your family.”
He blinked and looked skywards. ”That's the truth. I hope to G.o.d they're okay.”
”How did they call you up?” asked Chuck. ”Phones are down, no internet-”
”I was on active duty. We didn't manage to reach many when the order came in. And coordinating is h.e.l.l-some land-based radio but not much else.”
”Should we come back tomorrow, see what the news is?”
”You can try, sir.”
”Did you hear of any people being s.h.i.+pped in from Newark Airport?” I said.
He looked at me. A crowd of people began to press in against us, pus.h.i.+ng us into him.
”Back!” he yelled, his face hardening again as he shoved against us with his M16.
He looked at me and shook his head before yelling again, ”Back, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!”
Chuck grabbed me from behind and pulled me away.
”Come on, I think it's time we got out of here.”
3:40 p.m.
”WHICH ONE?”
”The black one, five rows up.”
I pointed up into the sky. ”That one?”
It was getting dark and snowing harder, nearing blizzard conditions again. We'd braved nearly thirty blocks to get to Chuck's parking garage in the Meatpacking District. The city was mostly deserted at the street level, except when we'd pa.s.sed the fancy Hotel Gansevoort on Ninth.
It was still lit up like a Christmas tree, and there was a huge crowd of people outside, demanding entrance. Several large doormen were standing and shaking their heads. Everyone was yelling. We pa.s.sed by and tried to ignore it.
”No, the one next to that one,” said Chuck.
I squinted. ”Ah, wow, now that is one nice truck. Too bad it's fifty feet off the ground.”
It was a vertical parking garage, right at the corner of Gansevoort and Tenth at the entrance to the West Side Highway. The perfect location to make a quick getaway from New York, a.s.suming your getaway car wasn't suspended in s.p.a.ce five stories up.
Chuck growled and swore again.
”I told those guys to bring my truck down to the first level.”
The parking structure was a set of open platforms-each platform just big enough to hold a car-suspended between vertical metal beams that closely stacked the cars against the wall of the building behind it. Each set of vertical metal beams had hydraulically-operated lifts inside of them that could raise and lower the platforms to let operators get the cars off, but of course the lift controls needed power to operate.
”n.o.body's going to come now. Couldn't we hot-wire a different truck? Something on the road?”
The snow had completely covered all the cars at ground level.
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